Departures and Leaps

After teaching writing classes for more than 11 years with Dallas College, I have resigned from my full-time position to light out for other endeavors.

It’s a family move, but I also love adventure and growing.

At first, I wasn’t sure about Florida – I’m more for mountains, hikes, and igloos than beaches, theme parks, and sweating. But I also love adventure, and exploring, and I’m ready for a new chapter. Florida has been, well, adventurous so far.

What is the right math to calculate change? Every family is different, but time, openness, honesty, and communication matter a great deal. And in my math, I’m ready for change.

Dallas College – Closing an Excellent Chapter

Dallas College is still a great place to learn and grow in the right circles. I will always love the writing classroom, and I’ll plan to stay teaching even part-time as long as they’ll have me. I’ve learned so much from excellent mentors (some who still say, “Oh Brian” when I, well, reveal my idiosyncrasies), colleagues, and incredible students.

I’ve been sitting with Maya Angelou’s words lately (she is a huge hero of mine), especially these: “People will forget what you say and do, but they will always remember how you made them feel.”

From my colleagues, I felt respected and welcomed, a part of a team. From my students, I have felt (and continue to feel) encouraged, humbled, enlightened. I learned so much from so many, like students who finally took risks and started seriously trying, students who felt bored or confused and told me, students who felt scared and gave up, and especially students who trusted me with the gifts of their stories.

Toward the Anxiety Storm of Change

I’m calling this a move toward something not a move away from something. Logistically and mentally, that’s right. Emotionally I’m there most days, until I feel overwhelmed or the loss, and those are valid, as well. I’ve learned so much from stories and books, and one thing I’ve seen time and time again is that Big Feelings are indicators and all Big Feelings always pass. Someone like Yoda (or Buddha, or Willie Nelson, or Lady Gaga) said that the only constant in the universe is change. To them I say, “Uh, Avogadro’s Number??” Mostly kidding. But change (and Avogadro, and the Golden Ratio) are constants. Someone else wise once said something along the lines of this: “If you’re having a bad day, sit with it because it will pass. If you’re having a good day, sit with it because it will pass.”

Job security is very nice. But sometimes the warmth of being blanket-wrapped on the couch prevents one from getting up and acting on opportunities.

Where will life take me?

Who knows. And isn’t that exciting? (And terrifying?) And a blessing? (And a risk?)

It’s definitely an opportunity to ask myself some universe rattling questions:

• Who do I really want to be?
• What do I really want to do with my time?
• What do I want to be when I grow up? (I personally keep asking this and think others should too.)
• Should I continue to pursue teaching writing or shall I finally look for careers in miming, circus acrobatics, or snail husbandry?

I’ve got a few ideas and some promising leads (though not with snails). I just hope I have the courage to try for the biggest leaps.

Leaps and Jumping

Here’s an image for you:

I’m standing in a forest on top of basically a tree with the top cut off and no handholds. It’s actually a telephone-style pole maybe 30 to 40 feet in the air with no handholds and a trapeze bar 6 feet away. (the trapeze bar might have actually been 20 feet away.) Oh, and I’m terrified.

A few weeks before my high school graduation, I had gone on a leadership retreat camping weekend with fellow students to explore character or something similarly torturous. I actually don’t remember any of the camp and togetherness crap except for this one moment atop the pole.

Everyone in our group had the opportunity to try to climb this pole (thick nails jutted out on either side for handholds), into the clouds (the pole might have actually been 100 feet tall), attempt to stand on top, feel the swaying in the wind, and then leap off the tentpole to a trapeze bar a foot or two above head-height and probably six feet away.

About a third chose not to try at all.

About another third started to ascend the pole and either got to the top and turned back or didn’t make it that far.

Maybe a quarter of those who ascended (don’t check my fractions) made it to the standing position on the log, but only about half of those actually took the leap (and only a smaller fraction actually reached the bar and fewer held on).

So picture a scrawny 18 year old boy secretly afraid of everything, who never felt like he belonged anywhere, even his own family, staring up at the top of a pole, and sharp enough to already see this as an analogy for life.

To this day, I remember this slightly silly artificial challenge as one of the emotional highs of my life. (I’m afraid of heights but just enough of a daredevil to try high stuff anyways.)

So many of life’s biggest challenges (and opportunities) are just leaps into space. I don’t mean that everyone should leap at every opportunity or that anyone should jump off roofs. Not a good idea. What I mean is that some of life’s finest moments are about picking our poles and making leaps, DESPITE THE FACT that (and maybe also because) they are scary as hell.

I can close my eyes and relive that day: the morning is sunny and bright but not hot. I take a breath and tell myself I’m doing this. I start the climb, making it a routine before I freak out. I feel the swaying, get into a groove and keep going. I get to the top loving the sense of safety with danger so close. I decide I’m going to get my feet from the nails on the side of this pole onto the top of it, despite my body feeling TENSE, anxious, exhilarated, and insane. I somehow manage to cat-paw a hand, then a foot and then another foot to the top and stand up. At this point, I am two miles into the sky and see an astronaut from the ISS waving. I hear voices of encouragement from below, but at this point, they metaphorically are miles away, and I’m alone.

Logically, I know I’ve already decided, “IMMA DO THIS.”

Emotionally, I’m hesitating. I don’t know what it’ll feel like. I can’t picture the arc. (Don’t worry; I’m wearing a rope.) After waiting a bit longer than I intend for fear to disappear (Spoiler: fear never disappears), I leap.

I’d love to say I hung in the air waiting imagining the future before me, but it was all very fast. I managed to grab onto that bar and attach by force of will, swaying, screaming in jubilation, LITERALLY SCREAMING as loud as I ever have. It is the feeling of the divine, the bliss of luck and accomplishment and gratification. The good of the universe. The good of leaping and doing. It was a moment. I can still feel that shout echoing through me.

Right now, I’ve climbed another pole. The world seems miles away, but I do hear some encouragement from below. I’m older, more in touch with my fear and will but not more in control of them. I’m leaping, and I know I’ll be okay, but I’m holding my breath, reaching.